


Runaway

by IrkTheWaffle



Category: Total Drama
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrkTheWaffle/pseuds/IrkTheWaffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifth-grader Michael Zangari has been living in squalor for as long as he can remember, and has been hearing voices for almost as long as that. He wants out, but does he deserve it? What do the voices have planned for him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Runaway

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a replacement for "Precious". Between newer canon information, my own shifting headcanons, and my general improvements in writing, that fic hasn't been relevant in a very, very long time. So, I've done take two on my concepts for Mike's life leading up to juvie. This was originally going to be a one-shot, but it got longer than I expected, and between schoolwork and a visitor, I don't know how long it would take me to get up to the point I want. So rather than letting this stagnate for a few weeks and potentially end up forgotten, I've decided to split it into parts. I doubt it'll exceed two chapters in the end, but we'll see. For now, enjoy!

I stood in the school's office, waiting patiently for the one present teacher to stop talking on the phone. I couldn't understand what she talked about, really; I recognized most of the words, but couldn't figure out their context. I assumed she spoke with another adult about business things that I wouldn't understand until I was older. As I waited for her to finish speaking, I looked around the room in an effort to keep myself busy. The beige walls with their photos and paintings of nature and the numerous bookcases with business-y looking books that I couldn't possibly read all struck me with perfect familiarity. I'd been in this office many, many times.

At least this time, I came here on my own free will rather than waking up after someone else got called here.

After saying her goodbyes, the teacher set down the phone, then jumped slightly after noticing me from the corner of her eye. "Mike? What are you still doing here? It's six at night!"

Ms. Kelly taught one of the school's kindergarten classes. I never had her as a teacher because I was out of that grade by the time she started working here, but I often saw her working in the office; she was one of the few teachers to remain in the building after the final bell rang. Because I stayed after more often than not, I ran into her a lot. I never minded talking to her whenever I had to come to the office. Her golden curls of hair and her bright smile always reminded me of the fairy godmothers I'd see in cartoons on TV. A fairy godmother never hurt anyone, so I felt safe around her. Sometimes she treated me like I was younger than the fifth-grader I was, but I liked that way better than constantly getting yelled at for things I didn't remember doing.

"Detention," I admitted with a sheepish grin. "I argued with the teacher during history again, so I had to clean the classroom. I only just got done."

Ms. Kelly shook her head and tutted. "Again? A young boy like you should be out playing, not hanging around here every day!"

"I'm sorry, Ms. Kelly." Despite her words, I didn't feel scolded. Instead, I felt more like she sympathized with my plight of getting stuck after school day after day.

Unlike the teachers who actually gave me detention, I felt like she might believe me if I told her I wasn't really the one who kept getting into trouble. I still couldn't bring myself to say that, after so many other teachers accused me of lying, but if I had to tell anyone, I might start with her.

"Oh, your cast is off!" she said, snapping me out of my considerations. "That's good to see!"

I nodded. "I thought I'd never get that thing off. Good thing I'm left-handed!"

"And now we know not to take flying leaps off the jungle gym, right?"

I only grinned in response. I honestly didn't remember doing that, but since everyone else told me that's how I broke my arm, I figure that really is what happened. It's not like I remembered any other way of breaking it.

"Goodness, I think I see you in casts as often as I don't..." she said, her smile fading as she spoke. "You must be an adventurous kid, with all the scuffs you always turn up with..."

"Yeah, I guess I'm just clumsy," I said with a laugh, desperate to get off this line of conversation. "Can I use the phone?" I asked, remembering why I was here to begin with. "I need to call my parents so they can pick me up."

"Why didn't you tell them before now that you had detention today?" she asked.

"I did, but they forget things sometimes. I wanna make sure they know."

"They didn't call us to ask why you're not home yet..." she said quietly, speaking more to the air than to me. As she lost herself in thought, I reached over and grabbed the phone receiver from next to her and dialed home. A series of rings sounded in my ear, but just as I expected – hoped against, but expected – no one ever answered.

"Five, six, seven..." I counted the rings in my ear, now used to how this would go. After the tenth ring, just as expected, the rings stopped in favor of a clicking noise and a robotic voice.

"I'm sorry, we're unable to come to the phone right now. After the beep, please leave your name and number, and we'll return your call as soon as possible."

_Beep._

"Mom? Dad?" I asked into the phone, in the hopes that someone was around to hear me as I recorded. "It's Mike. I'm sorry I'm not home yet. I had detention, and I'm still at school. But I'm done now, so can someone come get me?"

I waited a few seconds for someone to pick up the phone, but only silence greeted me. Ms. Kelly watched me with a frown, but she didn't say anything.

"Mom? Dad?" I asked again. "Is anyone home? I need a ride."

Still nothing. They almost never answered, and yet I constantly tried in the hopes that something would change.

Well, it was worth a shot.

"Sorry to bother you guys. I'll walk." I hung up the phone, fully prepared for this outcome. "Sorry to bother you, too, Ms. Kelly," I said. "I better get going before it gets too dark."

"I can drive you home if you want," she said. "I'm done here for the day."

"No, that's okay," I said. "I've walked this late before. I'll see you on Monday!" I smiled at her, then turned to leave.

"Mike. Wait," she said before I could take a step.

"Huh?" I asked, turning my head back toward her.

"Is everything okay at home?" she asked me, her forehead creasing.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be? They're probably still at work, that's all."

"You know..." She took a deep breath, then continued on in the honey-sweet voice I usually heard her using with the kindergarteners. "If you need help with anything, you can talk to me. I know you're not my student, but if you don't feel you can talk to any of your teachers, you can come to me with anything."

"Thanks, Ms. Kelly. I will."

"Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

"Nothing!" I insisted. "There's nothing wrong!"

"Mike... can you wait a moment?" she asked. After I nodded, she rose to her feet and approached one of the bookshelves. I watched as she removed a binder from the shelf and paged through it, not lingering longer than a second on each page. Eventually she stopped, popped open the rings on the binder, and removed a paper. My eyes followed her as she brought the paper over to the copier, laid it on the glass, and pushed a few buttons. After a few seconds of loud whirring, she removed the copy and set it down on her desk. She filled in a few blank lines with a blue pen, then handed me the result.

"Could you give this to your parents?"

I took the still-warm sheet from her hands and looked it over. The language was more formal than I was used to, but I understood the intent well enough; it requested that one of my parents or guardians sign it and suggest a date and time when they could come in and meet with the office.

"Oh..." My heart pounded as I looked it over, but I swallowed my nerves before Ms. Kelly could notice. "I've seen this before..."

"How did the meeting go then?" she asked. "I don't remember your parents ever coming to the school."

"They didn't come," I said. "I... I forgot to give them the paper, so they never knew about it."

"You forgot?" she repeated. "That's why they never came?"

I nodded quickly in response.

I'm not sure she believed me.

"Please don't forget this time?" she asked. "I'd really like for someone here to speak with your parents. Even I might speak to them myself. Even if I'm not your teacher, I still see you in here enough that I think I have a right."

"I won't forget, Ms. Kelly," I said, even as I considered ripping the paper up and dropping it in a storm drain on my way home. "I promise."

"You're sure there's nothing you want to talk about?" Ms. Kelly asked. "I'll stay later if you need me to."

"There's nothing." I turned toward the door again, and this time, walked for it before she could ask me anything else. "I'll see you on Monday, Ms. Kelly!"

To this day, I still wonder what would have happened if I told her the truth.

* * *

The sun had begun to set by the time I left school. It wasn't as dark as it could be yet, but the street lamps had already come on. I shivered in the winter air and drew my coat closer to me, although with all the holes it held, it still didn't do much to keep me warm.

I wondered if mom could afford a new one yet. She couldn't last year, but maybe this time...

Against my better judgment, I hadn't thrown away the paper Ms. Kelly gave me. In the end, I placed it in my folder and convinced myself to give it to whichever parent I saw next. Maybe it wouldn't go so bad this time.

Maybe this time. Maybe that time. Maybe things will be different. I found myself thinking that a lot over the years...

For a brief moment, the world around me hiccuped. I didn't suddenly find myself in a different location like I usually did, but the people who walked around me were suddenly further ahead than they should have made it in the time I remembered. I'd gotten so used to losing a few seconds like this that it didn't even break my stride; as long as it didn't end up in me getting lost or doing something I couldn't remember, the short time lapses stopped impacting me a long time ago.

_Hey, Mike. Look to your right._ _I was just out, and I saw something._

The voices, on the other hand, I could never get used to. A deep voice that chilled my spine flooded my head, and though I always told myself not to pay any attention to this one, I turned my head like he wanted. An orange tabby cat sat on the wall next to me. It watched me with its bright green eyes and occasionally meowed, but didn't move any more than its tail.

"You mean the cat?" I asked out loud, hoping no one would question me talking to nobody. "What about it?"

_I'm bored. I wan_ _t_ _to_ _play with the cat._

"What do you mean, 'play'?" I asked. "I didn't think you liked animals."

_Are you kidding?_ he responded. _I love playing with animals! I'll just pull the lighter from_ _our_ _pocket and-_

"Wait, _what?_ " I asked. I dug my hand into my coat pocket and clutched around in it. Before long, my fingers found a smooth piece of plastic. With a gulp, I withdrew it from its hiding place, hoping it wasn't what I thought it was.

I brought my hand into my line of vision to see a black lighter in my palm.

"How long has this been here?!" I asked.

_Nicked it this morning,_ said the voice. _It was just sitting there_ _in the living room,_ _right next to the big chair,_ _so why not, right?_

"This is dad's! Do you know what he's gonna do if he finds out we took his lighter?!"

_Calm down, calm down! He's never home before us. We'll put it back when we get home, and_ _the bastard will_ _never even notice!_

"What if my teachers saw this?! You could have gotten me expelled!"

_Why are you so boring?!_ he asked. _Sheesh, I was just trying to do something fun for us... and you never answered my first question. Can I come out and play with the cat?_

" _No,_ " I said sternly. "I'm not letting you near it. Not with a _lighter_."

_Why not?_

"Why not?! Why do you need to ask that?!" I couldn't understand this voice's logic at all. "You can't hurt animals! It's wrong!"

_It's just a stupid cat. It's not like anyone would miss it._

"Of course someone would! It's wearing a collar!" I pointed out, now focusing on the light blue collar around its neck. "That means it has an owner. I won't let you hurt animals, and I really won't let you hurt someone's pet. I bet someone's looking for that cat right now."

_Do you think someone's looking for us?_

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

_I'm just saying, just because the cat lives with someone, doesn't mean someone actually cares about it. I thought you'd realize that, of all people._

I fell silent as the voice's point settled in my mind.

_Come on. I haven't had fun in a long time. Let me play with the cat._

"I said no." I placed the lighter back in my pocket and walked away from the cat. "Come on, it's getting dark. I want to get home."

_You're no fun, Mike._

I ignored the voice's complaints as I made my way home through the dark.

* * *

The door creaked as I turned my key and pushed it open. "Hello?" I called into the pitch-black house. "Is anyone home?"

The silence was the best response I could have gotten.

I flicked on the switch by the door frame, then locked the door behind me. The overhead light, dim due to two bulbs in the four-bulb fixture dying last week, illuminated the dusty carpet, littered with plastic wrappers and beer bottles. I navigated through the minefield of garbage, taking particular care not to step on any glass, in an effort to make it to the kitchen. Turning on the kitchen light showed me even more dirt, with floors that hadn't been mopped in months and counters without any space for the smallest crumb due to all the dirty dishes and even more bottles. Piles of old envelopes, each addressed to either Nico Zangari or Rebecca Horne, formed tottering mountains on the table. If I breathed on one of the stacks, surely I'd find myself buried in envelopes with threatening stamps like "LAST NOTICE!" and "FINAL WARNING!" marked across them in bright red ink.

This didn't even disgust me anymore.

I dropped my schoolbag next to the one kitchen chair that didn't have papers or clothing stacked on it, then headed for the fridge. Mom hadn't been home in over a week and dad refused to go shopping anywhere more complicated than his runs to the gas station for beer and microwave dinners – microwave dinners I'd be foolish to take from him – so other than the brand new case of booze, I didn't have many options. While opening drawers in search of something I wanted to eat, I finally unearthed a plastic bag of deli ham. It had apparently gone off two weeks ago, judging by the date on the package. But it didn't smell objectionable and had nothing growing on it, so I peeled a slice from the stack, rolled it into a ball, and shoved the whole slice in my mouth at once. I cringed as I chewed the slightly-spoiled meat, a sour taste setting my taste buds ablaze, but still I powered through. Spoiled or not, it was better than a completely empty stomach.

After dinner, I sat down at the table and opened my schoolbag. One of the most annoying parts of detention for me was the fact that it ate into the time I could spend doing my homework. At this rate, I'd probably be working until I had to go to bed...

The beer bottles on the table clinked as I shoved them out of the way to make room for my books. I pulled out my first book and set it up, but I hadn't given it as much room as I thought; as I opened it, I knocked a couple bottles onto the floor. They shattered on the tile floor, scattering glass and spilling old beer everywhere.

"No, no, no!" I quickly leaped up with my book in my hand and turned it over, inspecting every inch of it; thankfully, I didn't seem to have spilled any beer on it. Grateful for that much, I tucked it back into my bag for safety, then went searching for clean-up tools. I pulled the dustpan out of the closet, ignoring the avalanche of various other objects stored in there now that they no longer had the dustpan holding them up. I also spied a roll of paper towels mixed into a pile of dirty cups on the counter; I'd try to unearth that after sweeping up the glass. With a plan to get things cleaned up in mind, I crouched down on the floor and swept up the shattered bottles, along with whatever crumbs and dust wanted to come along with them.

In the middle of sweeping, I jerked up like a shot, my heart pounding in my throat. The door's loud creak had echoed through the house, followed by the sound of wrappers crunching under someone's shoes.

"Mom?" I called hopefully.

Dad entered the kitchen without a word, the wrapper to a microwave burrito currently stuck to his sneaker. I watched him as he approached the fridge, seemingly unaware of my existence, and exhaled a heavy sigh of relief that he didn't seem to care about the shattered bottle. He was a tall man with skin as tan as mine, not particularly buff, but imposing enough to instantly let everyone know he was not a man to cross. His dark hair fell down to his shoulders, not as a deliberate choice, but because he hadn't bothered to get it cut recently. A trip to a hairdresser probably would have also prevented the streaks of grease it currently shined with.

"Where's your mother?" he asked as he rifled around in the fridge. "We're out of food."

"I haven't seen her," I said. "I thought you knew where she went."

"I can't keep track of what that bitch does," he said. "Probably off selling herself again... she better come back soon. She's sure as hell not gonna leave _you_ here."

"Selling herself?" I asked as I dumped the glass into one of the half-full garbage bags scattered around the kitchen. "What does that mean?"

Dad didn't answer me, instead preferring to grumble to himself. "No food in the house, floors are a goddamn disgrace... I work all week, I don't have time for this shit..." He withdrew a beer bottle from the fridge, then retreated back to the living room, chugging the bottle as he left. I watched him go, then turned my eyes to my schoolbag.

I didn't want to. But if I didn't, Ms. Kelly might report it, and that may have made things worse.

My body tensed as I pulled the meeting form out of my bag. Deep in my mind, I knew this would go wrong. This would be a terrible idea. Why wasn't mom home? She'd probably forget about the meeting again, but at least she'd sign it...

"Dad...?" I asked, trying to hide the shaking in my voice, as I approached him with the paper in my hand. He sat back in his stained recliner, his beer clutched in his fist, while he watched a news show. He didn't speak, but he looked at me, so I assumed he heard me. "I, um..." I held the paper out and gulped.

"What's this?" he asked as he took the paper from me.

"One of the teachers gave it to me... she wants you to sign it..."

"To the parents or guardians of Michael Zangari, we would like to arrange a meeting..." he read aloud. "Why'd they give you this?"

"They want to meet with you," I said, regret sinking my stomach like a stone. "Probably to talk to you about how I'm doing..."

"Why, so they can tell me all about how my kid talks to himself again?" he said as he shoved the paper back into my hands. "I'm not referring any kid of mine to a damn shrink. Do you have any idea what that would say about me?"

"B-but-" I stammered. "But if I don't bring this in, I might get in trouble-"

"Ask your mother about it, then. See if she cares."

"But I don't know when she's coming home!" I cried out, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. "Dad, please, if you don't meet with the teachers they're going to get worried, they might call here again and I know you hated that... please, just go in, let them know I'm okay-"

" _I'm not going!_ " he roared, his volume shocking me into silence and stillness. "If you're okay with the school thinking you're crazy, you go ahead, but I'm not dealing with this!" He groaned in exasperation and dug a shaking hand into his jacket pocket. "I need a smoke..."

Oh. Oh no.

"I'm just... gonna go do my homework now..." I said with a nervous laugh as I turned away, eager to get out of here soon. Maybe I could drop it on the kitchen floor and he'd think he left it there-

"Michael," he called sternly. I froze up with my back toward him, too stunned to even turn back around.

"...yes, dad?" I asked.

"Where's my lighter? I left it on this table here this morning. Where is it?"

I swallowed what little saliva my dry mouth could produce, and steeled myself even further for hiding the quavering in my voice. "...I don't know," I said after a few seconds of silence.

"Where's my lighter, Mike?" he repeated, louder this time.

"I said I don't know. I'm sorry." I took a deep, unfortunately audible breath as I tried my best to not cry. "Maybe... maybe it's in the kitchen? I can go check for you-"

"Turn your pockets out."

"W-what?" I said, my voice turning into a squeak.

"Turn. Your pockets. Out." he repeated. " _Now!_ "

"Um..." I dug my trembling hands into my coat pockets. "O-okay... I... will..." Like ripping off a bandage, I pulled both pockets inside out in one quick movement. I didn't usually keep anything in my coat, so there wasn't a lot to remove from them.

The only thing in my coat was the black lighter that hit the carpet.

Next thing I knew, I had dad's rough hands on my shoulders as he shoved me into the wall, smacking my head against it with a loud thud. "You little bastard!" he shouted. "First you steal my shit, and then you lie to me about it?! Why did you take my lighter?!"

"I didn't!" I insisted. "I- I really didn't!"

" _Bullshit!_ What, did someone else put it in your pocket?!"

"Yes! I- I- mean- well, no, but-" I stammered, trying to figure out how to explain this to someone who refused to believe it. "One of the others made me take it, I'm not sure why, but I didn't know he did- I- I would have stopped him if-"

" _Shut up!_ " Dad's roar intimidated me into a swift silence. "You still think I'm going to believe that imaginary friend crap?! People don't live in your head, Michael!"

"But they really-"

" _I said shut up!_ " He threw me to the side and to the floor. I winced as I bounced, my shoulder colliding painfully with the ground. "You're really intent on this, aren't you? You actually want people to think you're crazy!"

"I'm not crazy, but-"

"Maybe you really aren't my kid, maybe Becca got knocked up by one of her crackhead friends... would explain why her goddamn bastard kid is so screwed up..."

"Dad, please-" This time, he silenced me not with screams, but with a swift kick in my stomach.

"Get out of my face, Mike," he said. "Not another word from you. I don't care where you go, just get away from me. I've had a long day and I'm not in the mood for this."

"But I-"

" _Go to bed, Mike!_ "

"But the paper!" I insisted as I sat up, my eyes welling with tears. "Please, you don't even need to come, just sign so I have something to hand in, if you sign it I won't come out of my room until school on Monday, I promise-"

I cried out as dad's fist collided with my face, sending my head slamming into the wall behind me once more.

"I'm sorry-" Normally I would have run off by now, but both of Dad's fists now balled around my shirt collar so I couldn't move. "Never mind- I'll go- I'm sorry-"

I don't remember what he said as I sobbed more apologies. A pounding ache spread through my brain as my hearing went murky. My chest tightened, and each breath came more labored than the last.

"I'm sorry-"

The world went black and white and blurry as my breathing turned to painful gasps.

I woke up in bed.

I groaned and clutched my head as I sat up. I didn't know how long I was out, but whatever hour it was, it was a dark one; my light hadn't been turned on, so I sat in darkness that prevented me from recognizing anything in the room I knew so well. Every inch of me ached, but nothing hurt more than my head. I wasn't sure how much of it was physical or how much was mental, but either way, the headaches after stuff like this were the one thing I could never get used to. The bruises on my limbs that I rarely remembered actually earning had become a fact of life; they still hurt, but they were so commonplace that I barely knew what it felt like not to have them. The headaches, however, couldn't be ignored so easily. Especially not now, when they came with chattering from numerous voices at once, all of them loud enough to drown out all the others. I couldn't recognize any of the voices or anything they said; all I knew was that they added to the disorientation that always came with the longer time lapses. With another groan, I threw myself back down onto the pillow and closed my eyes.

I never did get started on my homework. At least it was a weekend... maybe if I stayed out of my parents' way and didn't switch, I could get it done by Saturday night... I still didn't know what to do about the meeting slip, though...

Annoyed but aware that there was nothing else I could do at the moment, I drifted off into sleep.

* * *

I had a very vivid dream that night.

It took place in a pink room with ridged walls, textured like the standard image of a brain I often saw in cartoons. Two figures sat on stools at a table with a white cloth over it. A pale woman nervously ran her fingers through her blonde hair, her blue eyes darting around the room nervously. I recognized her as a woman named Svetlana. I'd seen her in my dreams before; I'd come to view her as a big sister, or maybe an aunt. I often dreamed about her holding me as I cried and telling me that I would be okay. She had a voice so heavily accented that I couldn't always understand her, like some of the people I heard in international shows, but even when I couldn't understand, her tone always comforted me.

The other figure at the table, however, wasn't familiar to me. This figure was a large male, with well-maintained muscles to match his size. His skin was darker than mine, though I couldn't tell his hair color, for atop his head sat a brown fedora that covered all of it.

"Are we the only ones coming, then?" the man asked in a thick Australian accent of his own, though I found his words easier to understand than what I was used to from Svetlana. "Where are the others?"

"Chester is in no position to be speaking in the meetings, Manitoba," Svetlana said. "I do not believe he's even aware of what he is. Last I saw he stood in the middle of nothing, yelling at children."

The man who I now assumed to be Manitoba shot upright, a scowl on his face. "The littles?" he asked. "He shouldn't do that, they've been through enough-"

Svetlana shook her head. "No, not them. He yelled at no one. He's in his own world at the moment. I don't know what he sees, but it's not there."

"Oh," he said as his body language relaxed. "That's a right shame... what about Vito?"

"He is also in no shape for a meeting. For now he only yells at anyone who comes close not to touch him. I cannot imagine what he's been through..." Svetlana shuddered as her voice trailed off.

"Think we're due to take some of those memories for him again?" Manitoba asked.

"Oh, I do so loathe those memories..."

"Yeah, but we function better if we all have small chunks rather than one person having to hold it all, you know? I don't like it either. Need a shower just thinking about it. But if he gets too overwhelmed and Mike has to deal with it..."

"Mike can _not_ have those memories," Svetlana said firmly. "I absolutely forbid it. I know I cannot protect him from everything, but I must draw a line somewhere."

I wasn't sure what she was talking about, but I figured I was better off not knowing.

"So, no Chester, no Vito, and obviously the littles and halflings can't do anything here..." Manitoba said. "Looks like it's just us, Svet."

A loud cough interrupted Manitoba. Both he and Svetlana turned their heads at once, toward a figure I could have sworn wasn't there before they looked. His skin tone matched mine, as did his bone-exposing weight, but even sitting, he looked to be nearly twice as tall as I was, with most of that height in his legs. Most of his hair was covered by the gray hoodie he had pulled over his head, but a pitch black chunk of it covered one of his eyes.

"Did you forget about someone?" said the new figure in a deep voice that loaded my veins with dread. I recognized it immediately; this was the same one who wanted to attack the cat earlier.

"Not on accident," Manitoba said, glaring at him. "I thought you hated these meetings."

"I also hate being forgotten about," said the hooded one. "At least give me an invitation so I can decline."

"There is a reason you are no longer invited!" Svetlana shouted, although her body trembled. "These meetings are for Mike's sake, which you clearly have no interest in-"

"Is Mike the only one who matters? What are the rest of us doing here, then?"

Svetlana and Manitoba didn't answer him, instead choosing to lock steely glares at him.

"What's wrong with letting me know what you guys have planned for the body? I deserve to know that much."

"Fine. Just don't talk," Manitoba said. He and Svetlana faced each other once more, their concern no longer with the new addition. "What I wanted to talk about is simple – things can't stay the way they are now. I don't think Mike can take much more of this. The question is, what do we do about it?"

"I am not sure about leaving this place," Svetlana said. "At least here we have food and shelter, as minimal as it is. Could we really survive if we left?"

"Can we really survive if we stay?" Manitoba countered. "The body's getting weaker. I can feel it every time I front."

"What do you suggest, then?" Svetlana asked. "We cannot leave without a plan. It could make things much worse."

"Simple. We convince Mike to report," Manitoba said. "I know he seems reluctant to leave. I don't even know if he knows he has a choice. But if we can get the body in a safer place, show Mike he's better off there-"

"But what if his parents find out?" Svetlana asked. "His father would not be happy... not happy at all... and if he gets sent back home..."

"If he tells the full story, they can't possibly send us back here, can they?"

"I agree with Manitoba."

Manitoba and Svetlana both turned to the hooded one again after he made his contribution.

"I thought we told you not to talk, mate," Manitoba said. "Your ideas have never been in Mike's best interest, so I don't see you starting now."

"Seriously? You're not going to let me talk about something that concerns me as much as it does you guys?" he snapped. "I'm so sick of you guys treating me like I don't matter. Not much different from the outside. It's bullshit, frankly. Besides, I'm agreeing with the hat guy."

"Wait, you agree?" Manitoba said.

"That's what I said the first time. Maybe if you weren't so determined to shut me up, you would have caught that."

"...huh. Well, then." Manitoba smirked and fiddled with the brim of his hat while Svetlana looked back and forth between the two, a disgusted look on her face. "So, you can help me convince Svetlana that the best thing to do is to report our issue to authorities and let someone else take care of this?"

"Not that far," the hooded one said. "I just agree with you more than Svetlana because I do agree that we should leave. Yesterday, preferably."

Manitoba's smirk faded as quickly as it appeared. "What are you saying, then? If we're not reporting, that means we leave, and then...?"

"No then. We leave. That's it. We take care of ourselves and stop relying on other people. Look where reliance has gotten us up to now."

"I am not sure I follow," Svetlana said. "Surely you are not suggesting we live out on the streets, with no warmth or food?"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Get out of here and worry about the rest later."

"I don't think I'm on-board with this," Manitoba said. "I was thinking more like, we find a shelter somewhere and stay there, let someone else take care of us, maybe we'd be placed in foster care-"

"Do you _really_ think we'd stand a chance in foster care?" asked the hooded one.

"Just because you have poor self-esteem and think no one would want you, doesn't mean-"

"Be quiet about that! That's not the point!"

Svetlana squeaked and shrunk back, but Manitoba held firm.

"This has nothing to do with self-esteem, I'm thinking practically here! So, we take this body, of an older brown kid with a number of undiagnosed mental issues, to a shelter. And then what? Who would adopt this kid when there's so many more appealing options? Instead we get stuck there for the next few years, at the mercy of a bunch of adults with no personal investment in us who could be just as bad as dear old daddy here, until the day the body turns eighteen. Then we get thrown out on the street _anyway_. I'm just cutting out the middleman. We stay on the streets, we're free early."

"I understand your concerns with shelters," Svetlana said, still withdrawing from the hooded one. "I am also unsure about our chances there. But I do not like our chances on the street, either. That's why I suggest we stay where things are certain, and perhaps we'll have a change of luck-"

"That's it?!" The hooded one's voice grew louder. "Just wait around here?! What, do you like getting the shit beaten out of you?!"

"We cannot act without agreement between everyone here!" Svetlana stood up and faced the hooded one, perhaps trying to face her fears, but even standing she wasn't that much taller than he was while sitting. "I refuse to leave unless everyone else is on board, and even then I'm uncertain... but I am mostly concerned about Mike. Until he agrees to leave, I vote that we stay."

"Yeah, good damn luck getting Mike to agree to anything," the hooded one spat. "He'll stay here and insist he deserves all this until the day he finally gets killed. That's not fair on any of us!"

"But it is still his body!" Svetlana said. "It should be his choice!"

"As much as I disagree about staying, Svetlana does have a point about that," Manitoba said. "We're here to protect him. While he does need some nudging to act out more, I don't think just taking over the body and whisking him away is the best option. But if we can convince-"

"You're not going to convince him! Don't you get it yet?! That kid has no spine!"

"What kind of protector are you?!" Manitoba said. "Are you seriously suggesting we force him into a life situation he doesn't want?!"

"Am I seriously being scolded by two people who keep taking over his body and getting him into trouble?!"

"A detention or two never hurt anybody," Manitoba said. "Especially since he's safer at school than he is at home. I'm doing him a favor in a way. I do agree with you that we deserve some recognition on the outside, but there are ways to do that which don't contradict our protective roles."

The hooded one rolled his eyes. "Tell that to the one who keeps getting his limbs broken."

"Those were _accidents!_ " Svetlana said. "Those were much, much different from purposely stealing from one who you know will attack us for it, or from suggesting we march Mike into a situation that will frighten and endanger him! You owe him your loyalty-"

"I owe Mike _nothing!_ " said the hooded one. "I've never thought of myself as his protector. I'm here to protect the body and myself. If Mike benefits from that, great. But his mind is not my priority. What I want is for the body to stop getting hit. That's all. So what are you two going to do about it?"

Manitoba and Svetlana spoke at the same time.

"Report."

"Wait it out."

"And my vote is on running away."

"Your vote doesn't count," Manitoba says. "You've openly admitted to disregarding Mike, so you are no longer part of this meeting. Case closed."

"And who made _you_ the leader of this system?!" the hooded one shouted, finally standing up. "Who says that _you_ get to make all the decisions?! What about _me?!_ Do you have _any idea_ what I've taken for this kid?! How many times I've been hit?! I just went through this shit a few hours ago! Mike freaked out, he retreated, and I got to be the one who woke up again! You're both so focused on taking pain from each other and from that shirtless guy; what about me?! _Why do I keep getting forgotten about?!_ I don't even have a _name!_ "

"A system is a team!" Manitoba said. "Either you work with us to protect Mike, or you're on your own. I can't help someone who works against Mike."

"And I can't work _with_ Mike, so it looks like we're stuck." The hooded one turned his back toward the other two, then looked back at them. "And if we're always going to be stuck, then I have no reason to wait any longer than I already have. I'm giving you until morning to decide what you're going to do to protect our body and to protect the kid. If neither of you make a move, I'm taking matters into my own hands."

He started to walk away, but I didn't get to watch for long. A pillar of fire erupted between him and the others, using his stool as kindling, and obscured him from view.

I didn't think much of it at the time. I brushed it off as a strange dream, filled with words and images that meant nothing, and nothing more than that.


End file.
